


Fall Into Something New

by fruityfruityfruitloops (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Supernatural Beacon Hills, Physical Abuse, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2761451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fruityfruityfruitloops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles lives a solitary life, avoiding his abusive mother after the death of his dad. He plans on cutting ties and running once he finishes high school. Then he meets Scott McCall, and his perspective starts to shift. But is it enough to make Stiles change his lonely ways? Rating subject to change. Slash, non-supernatural AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles awoke later than he should have. "Crap," he thought, "crap, crap, crap." His mother would be awake soon, and she'd be hungry. Years of drinking had left her an angry shell of a woman, abusive toward Stiles and without any purpose in life. Normally Stiles got up early enough to make her some breakfast and something small for him that he could eat on the way to school, far removed from his mother's hungover warpath. But he had been up late last night studying and slept through the time when he normally woke up. He silently cursed himself as he got dressed as quickly as possible. Maybe if he was fast enough, he could-

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen followed by a loud string of curses. It was too late to try and grab something to eat, but he could still slip out of his bedroom window and escape without being terrorized by his mother. Chances were good that whatever had been in that glass wasn't juice.

Stiles pulled on his shoes, grabbed his backpack, and slipped out the window. He could still hear his mother ranting in the kitchen as he ran toward the bus. He made a mental note to himself to increase his private stockpile of food next time he went grocery shopping. He had run out a couple of days ago.

His father had been a police officer, but had been killed in a shoot-out almost ten years ago, when Stiles was six. Since then, he and his mother had been living off the large settlements that they had gotten from both the government and his father's life insurance policy.

Actually, it was his father's death that had pushed his mother into the drinking. She did all right for a few months, when she had her friends supporting her, but as life started returning to normal, she started relying on alcohol more and more to make it through the average day. By the time a year had passed, alcohol had become her average day. Stiles was forced to live off of her neglectful parenting until he was about twelve, when he slowly started taking over the responsibilities of the house.

That was four years ago, when he had stopped living any semblance of a normal life. When he was younger, Stiles had held on to the hope of his mother picking up the pieces of her past life. "Maybe today," he would think, "she'll stop drinking. Maybe today we can try to go back to where we were." He had carried on with his social life. He made friends, he he gossiped, he even took a liking to some boys. But hope was replaced by cynicism, and Stiles became more and more reclusive, until it was finally just him and his mother.

Now, their relationship consisted of him taking a few blank checks from his mother's checkbook to go shopping for whatever they might need. His mother didn't mind him forging her signature as long as food and booze showed up in the refrigerator, but she kept a watchful eye on the bank balance. It turns out that the only thing she really neglected was her son.

School was Stiles' only escape. Escape from the struggles of his crappy life, and eventually, the escape from this town. Stiles knew that as long as he stayed in Beacon Hills, he would never be happy. Once he turned 18, he would inherit half of his father's benefits, and he could move out, and start a new life. College seemed like the way to go, although he had no idea what he would do there. Maybe some kind of science. Or writing. He felt like he could be a good writer. Anything to get him away from here.

* * *

Stiles sighed as he reached the lunch room. Crowded as usual. He had enough change to afford himself a small lunch, but not much else. Thankfully, it was Leftover Friday. Some thrifty politician a few years back had a initiated a policy that gave a school kickbacks if they sold leftover food from the rest of the week on Fridays at a discounted price. He picked up some fish sticks and vegetable salad, along with a free cup of water. It wasn't glamorous or even particularly good, but it was better than nothing.

He sat down at a somehow unoccupied table and started eating. As he ate he watched a group of friends chatting and laughing about whatever they were talking about. He envied them a little bit. All right, more than a little bit. They had minimal problems, and what few problems they did have, they had support from all sides.

Part of Stiles' plan to move out and start a new life involved keeping his personal relationships as non-existent as he could. It made for a clean break once he finally swept out of there. He could declare himself independent ride of into the figurative sunset, never to return.

Of course, this plan wasn't without drawbacks. He had no one to talk to, and he feared that this made him a bit anti-social. It couldn't be great, psychologically speaking. There had to be some repercussions for avoiding people for so long.

The bell rang for the end of lunch, and everyone slowly started filing out into the halls. Three more classes, Math, Science, and Econ, and he'd be out for the weekend. Maybe he could sneak himself some candy bars this weekend when he went shopping. That should make up for any deficit left by crippling loneliness, right?

* * *

Stiles mentally ruled out "economist" from the list of professions he could pursue after college. His Econ class was dragging on, and if he couldn't stand the class, then he probably wouldn't last in the career. His mind kept drifting toward the weekend, mentally composing shopping lists and to do lists.

No, Stiles needed something creative, something...distracting. Something that was freeing. As the bell rang for the end of the day, something happened that had never happened before: someone called his name. It took him a second to realize that it was Coach Finstock, his Econ teacher.

"Stilinski, front and center!" he barked. Stiles made his way up to Coach Finstock's desk confused as to what this could possibly be about. "Stilinski, I need a favor," he said once Stiles had arrived. "One of my team captains is failing Econ and he needs a tutor. I can't do it because I've got shit to do. Think you can help him pick up the slack? I can throw in some extra credit to sweeten the deal."

"I, uh, I dunno," Stiles replied, caught off guard. "Why me? Lydia's got the top grade in the class."

Coach Finstock snorted. "Believe me, I tried that first. She quickly pointed out that she had neither the time nor the patience to deal with 'some dumb jock', as she put it. Now, I know you've got the time, because you don't have a social life - no offense," he threw in as an afterthought. "So, what do you say?"

Stiles was tempted to say no, but he could tell that the coach was a little bit desperate. Plus, Stiles wouldn't mind getting out of the house a few more hours a week. "...All right," Stiles eventually relented. "I'll do it. I'm not going to do the work for him, though."

Coach Finstock rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. Besides, McCall's a goodie-goodie. He wouldn't want that anyway. You should probably meet him and work out a schedule. If you don't mind waiting around a couple of hours, you could talk to him in the locker room after lacrosse practice. Sound good?"

"Sure," Stiles replied. "Sounds good."

"Great. Now get out of my classroom," Coach Finstock barked.

* * *

Stiles looked up from his homework to watch the players on the field. He was sitting in the bleachers, waiting for practice to end so that he could finally meet Scott McCall. From what he could tell, the team was pretty good. They were accurate without compromising speed, and they kept a sturdy defense with an aggressive offense. It was no wonder that they made playoffs every year. Finally, Coach Finstock blew this whistle called for the end of what he referred to as a disgraceful practice.

Stiles packed up his things and made his way toward the locker room. He figured that he could wait outside the door until Scott came out. At least, that was the plan. He hadn't counted on Scott taking forever. An entire half-hour later, Jackson Whittemore, Scott's co-captain emerged. "Hey, is Scott McCall still in there, or did I miss him somehow?" Stiles asked him.

Jackson sized Stiles up before replying, giving him a once-over. Apparently unimpressed, he said "Yeah, he's still in there. It's his turn to clean the equipment, so he's probably just getting out of the shower now. You can go in after him if you want." He started walking away.

"Are you sure?" Stiles called after him.

"I really don't care," he replied, without turning around or even breaking stride.

Stiles took a deep breath and pushed the doors open. It was cleaner then he expected. There was the occasional towel or lacrosse stick laying around, but none of the stereotypical jockstraps or mold to be seen. He didn't see Scott though. At least not at first. Scott came ambling out of the shower, apparently unaware of Stiles' presence.

To say Scott McCall was attractive didn't do him justice. For one, he was incredibly muscular, but not in that overly ripped way. He was slender and fit, and the "towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping down his torso" look seriously worked for him. Also his jaw was slightly offset in a really cute way. Plus, he was a genuine sweetheart, and that was always attractive. Back when Stiles was still harbor into hope for a normal single parent life, Scott had been Stiles' first crush.

"Uh, Scott? Scott McCall?" Stiles asked cautiously.

Scott jumped in surprise and let out a small yelp. "Dude, you scared me," he said, smiling his cute, crooked smile. "I'm usually the only one in here by the time I get out of the shower."

"So I gathered," Stiles said dryly. "Coach Finstock asked if I could tutor you in Econ, so I thought I'd find you and work out a schedule. Preferably one where you're clothed."

"Yeah, sorry about this," Scott said sheepishly. "Um, would Tuesdays and Thursdays work? My mom works evenings those days, so we'd have the house to ourselves. I could give you a ride if you need it."

Stiles nodded. "Sounds good. I'll just see you here around 4:30 then?"

"Sounds good," Scott said, grinning. "Thanks for helping me out."

"No problem," Stiles said, backing out of the locker room. "See you next Tuesday."


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles took a steadying breath before entering the aisle with the various snacks and crackers. Shopping for food was, in his opinion, needlessly complicated. Of course, there were rules for what he could and couldn't get for various purposes. Most people didn't spend this much time agonizing over groceries unless they were allergic to pretty much everything.

The aisle he was currently in made up the majority of his personal store, but he had to be careful what he built his stockpile with. He followed a few simple rules: Number One, always generic, never name brand. Name brand food was needlessly expensive. Number Two, buy in bulk as much as possible. One huge container of crackers was cheaper than two smaller ones. Finally, Number Three, buy on sale as much as possible. When he shopped for himself, it was important to get the most bang for your buck. Especially when the buck was heavily scrutinized by his mother. This stash was for emergencies only, like when he couldn't get access to normal food and/or needed to get out of the house in a hurry. This shopping trip, he ended up with a box of protein bars, a huge carton of fish-shaped crackers, and a box of cheese and cracker sandwiches.

Food shopping for his mother was much simpler. She subsisted almost entirely off of frozen, pre-made meals. Her "heat and eats", Stiles called them. It worked well for both of them. Stiles didn't have to cook for her, since sobriety was generally unnecessary for the microwave, and she got meals without having to deal with him. Stiles was all about efficiency. That, and minimizing contact with his mother.

Thankfully, she got her own booze. Stiles could probably produce it if he really had to, but he preferred not to. Getting caught with alcohol well below the drinking age might throw a wrench in the works, the works being leaving without a trace.

Finally, it was time to shop for his normal food. The main theme of this part of the shopping trip was pre-packaged food. The food he subsisted off of had two main goals: nourishing him and minimizing the time spent in areas that could be occupied by his mother. He usually had time to make himself an actual breakfast, so he got some bagels with cream cheese, some smoothies, and some squeezable yogurt. Most of these could be eaten on the go anyway. Lunches and dinners were these handy packs of cheese, meats, and crackers, along with individual bags of pre-sliced apples, grapes, or carrots. It wasn't a huge meal, but they got him through the day. And he still liked to be healthy when he could.

Stiles pulled out one of the blank checks from his mother as he approached the check-out counter. None of the checkers ever asked for his ID for the check. His father's death had been well-publicized enough that everyone knew who he was. Even the kids in his class knew that his father had died tragically, though most of them didn't know any of the specifics. He sighed as he read the final price; it was almost $250. They weren't hard up for money by any means, but this was still excessive. If he were able to by actual food, instead of all this frozen processed crap, the price would not only drop, but he could eat healthier and even make himself bigger portions. He wasn't malnourished, but he was fairly scrawny.

"Please tell me that's not all for you," came a slightly judgmental voice from behind him. He turned around to face Lydia Martin, superstar brainiac and hostess with the mostest.

"I really don't see how that's any of your business," Stiles said, trying to sound as non-chalant as he could. He leaned up against his shopping cart, only for it to roll away from, sending him crashing to the floor.

Lydia rolled her eyes as she offered him a hand back up. "Because," she replied, "left to your own devices, you might accidentally kill yourself." She pulled him back up as the bagger ran to retrieve his cart.

"Thanks. And for your information, the frozen stuff is for my mom. She doesn't really cook. The rest is for me. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Other people eat too, Stiles," she said, as if it were one of the most dumb questions she had ever been asked.

"Not much, apparently. You have a bottle of water and some celery sticks. Are you trying to feed a rabbit, or become one?"

Lydia made a face at him before watching the bagger load up Stiles' purchases. "You take the bus home, right? I'll give you a ride."

The checker rang up Lydia's items and she handed him a debit card. Stiles started to protest. "That's all right, I don't need-"

"I didn't ask you, I told you," she said in a tone that was neither superior nor commanding, but was just blunt. She grabbed her singular bag and walked toward the exit, leaving Stiles to follow.

The drive home was silent, but not uncomfortable. Stiles had started to give her directions before she cut him off again, saying she remembered how to get there. Before Stiles' self-imposed solitude, he and Lydia had been good friends, play dates and everything. They were had a fierce academic competition, which Lydia consistently won. Stiles had a good memory and studied well, but Lydia's intelligence was on an entirely different level. Twice, administrators offered to let her skip a grade, but she rebuffed, saying she preferred to take her time and be thorough.

They sat there in silence each to their own thoughts, until Lydia broke it. "I heard you're going to tutor Scott," she said softly.

"Yeah. I didn't really have any reason not to. I mean, Finstock even offered me extra credit."

"It's not going to be enough to top me," she said warningly. Stiles snorted derisively.

"Oh, get off your high horse, it's not about that. I just wanted an excuse to get out of the house," he said plainly.

"Is everything all right at home?" she asked, a little too quickly. Stiles looked at her sharply. He had underestimated how perceptive Lydia was. This had been her plan all along, and she had manipulated him right into it.

He forced himself to act casual. If he knew Lydia, and he was pretty sure he did, he knew that she'd try to 'save' him, and call the cops or child protective services. Neglect and the occasional violent outburst was more than enough to have him placed in a home. "Yeah, fine, just normal teenager stuff, I guess. Fight the power, stick it to the man, all that jazz."

"Yeah, tutor the school alpha male. That'll show 'em," she said sarcastically. Stiles laughed in spite of himself. Lydia was just smart or clever, she was witty, and quicker than most people. That was why Stiles had liked her; she was both an insurmountable challenge and a role model to him.

"Oh, screw you," he said.

Lydia gave him a funny look. "You seem...different from the last time we talked. Your more free. Unrestrained."

Stiles knew what she was talking about. He'd been listening to his internal dialogue instead of talking to actual other people for quite a long time. He didn't even keep up a façade of a personal life anymore. The result of this isolation had left him unchecked socially. He didn't bother mincing words, he just said what he felt. He still had a filter, but now his filter let more through.

"Here we are," she said, pulling up in front of his house. "Do you need help carrying those in?"

"Nah," he replied, "I'm fine. And don't try to force your way in, you asked this time." Lydia held up her hands in mock surrender. Stiles pulled out the last of his bags from her back seat, but paused before shutting the door. "Hey, thanks Lydia. I really appreciate.

"No problem," Lydia said. "Let me know if you ever need my help." Her voice sounded casual, but her eyes suggested something much more significant.

* * *

It wasn't that Scott was a frustrating student. Stiles had been working with Scott for two weeks, and he could see that Scott was honestly trying. It was just that Scott would figure out a concept only to forget it by the next time they had a tutoring session. But he still worked at it.

Scott put down his pencil in frustration, staring at a compound interest formula that was eluding him. "Can I take a break?" he asked, sounding defeated. "I'm kind of thirsty."

Stiles paused in the middle of dissecting another problem for Scott, to show him how it was done. "Yeah, sure. That's probably a good idea. Let it roll around in the back of your consciousness until it clicks." He watched Scott disappear into the kitchen before returning back to his formula. He only looked back up when a can of soda appeared in front of him.

"Here," Scott said, "I thought you could use some refreshment too."

Stiles took a second to process before taking the can. "Thanks," he said, popping it open. He took a swig, unable to recall the last time he had had a soda. It was alarmingly sweet, and it fizzled on the way down. He almost coughed, unused to the feeling.

Scott stared at his can contemplatively before speaking again. "Can I ask you something? Something kind of...personal?"

Stiles nodded before he even thought about what Scott might ask. Despite Stiles' best interests, he found himself automatically trusting Scott. It was just one of his charms.

Scott tried to find a way to phrase his question diplomatically. "How come you don't really...do anything? Like, socially, I mean."

Stiles pursed his lips, trying to find an answer that was honest, kept his secrets hidden. "I guess I just...never saw the point. I mean, we'd be friends now, but in a few years we'd all go off to different colleges and we'd say that we'd keep in touch online and stuff, but we'd inevitably just drift apart. Then, a few years down the road, we'd look back and think 'What happened?' I guess I just thought I'd forgo all of that."

Scott pondered Stiles' answer before responding. "I guess that makes sense, but doesn't that get lonely?"

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, but I think it'll be worth it in the end." He was about to turn back to their work when he glanced at Scott's watch. He shot up in a panic. "Oh my god, is it 6:30 already? I've got to get home! I'm so late!" Scott's offers of a ride fell on deaf ears as Stiles grabbed his things and bolted.

* * *

Stiles could feel the panic rising in his chest as he arrived at home. The stream of yelling and the neighbors peeking through windows told that if a noise complaint hadn't been lodged already, it soon would be. Judging from his mother' stone and volume, chances were good that this was leading toward one of their more aggressive altercations.

He opened the door only to be pulled inside. "You're late! You been spreadin' your lies about me again?" his mother shouted at him. The cops visited often due to noise complaints, which she figured was just Stiles' being clever and trying to get her in trouble, never mind the fact that it was always Stiles who death with them and sent them away.

"No mom, I was just-"

"Quit lyin' to me! I know you been tryin' to get me out the way to get your greedy little hands on my money!" By this point, she was gesturing wildly with a beer bottle that he knew could end up as a projectile. He started backing toward the direction of his room.

"Mom, I swear, I was just-"

His mother suddenly hurled the bottle at him. He flinched, but it still struck him in the forehead, bouncing of and crashing to the ground. He suddenly took off, escaping to his room. There was no calming her at this point, just trying to stay out of the warpath.

His dresser was strategically placed so that it could be pushed up against the door in case of an emergency like this. By the time his mother lumbered down the hall, the door was already barricaded. Stiles' collapsed into a ball on his bed, trying unsuccessfully to hold back sobs of pain and misery. It was only as his mother stopped hammering on his door and shouting that he managed to cry himself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles awoke the next morning with a headache and lump on his forehead the size of an egg. Touching it gingerly almost reduced him to tears. Well, that and the anger and depression welled up inside of him almost made him cry. He sighed shakily and got changed out of yesterday's clothes. His mother couldn't be heard through his bedroom door, which was a good sign for him. He could grab one of his quick breakfasts and lunches and beat it before his mom even stirred.

He removed the barricade from his door and cautiously poked his head out of the doorway. He could hear his mother snoring like a particularly apneic bear down the hall. She was going to wake up with a monster of a hangover, he noted with satisfaction. Karma was a bitch that way.

* * *

Stiles' headache had subsided into a dull throb by the time he got to school, which he was thankful for. He could manage throbbing; the screaming agony it had threatened to turn into early this morning? Not so much. He stepped off the bus, slurping down the rest of his yogurt as walked toward the school. As he approached the front steps, a fiery redhead burst out the front doors to glare at him. "Is this an ambush?" he asked, only half-joking.

"And how did this monstrosity happen?" she asked, pointing to the bruise on his forehead. Her nostrils were flaring and her lips were pursed, which were never good signs with Lydia.

"I tripped. Smacked my head on the counter. The counter won," He replied simply. He had come up with this excuse on the bus. He was a quick and convincing liar when he needed to be. A simple, believable story like this would fly under the radar. He had dozens of excuses like this filed away in his brain.

Lydia, however looked unconvinced. She stood there, staring at him, as if she were trying to break him. She finally relented. "I'm not surprised you did, carrying all those stupid bags. Well, come on, let's get you fixed up," she said impatiently, walking away briskly.

"Um, excuse me? Fix me up how? I was unaware of any renovation plans," Stiles replied.

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "You don't think I'm going to let you walk around like that all day do you? Besides, I don't want to see it every time I pass you in the halls. So come on, let's get this taken care of." She stepped forward and dragged him into the halls of the schools and eventually into a girls' bathroom, despite heavy protests. A couple of the girls looked like they wanted to say something as well, but a silent look from Lydia was all it took to quell any misgivings.

Lydia planted him in front of a mirror, pulling out a makeup case from her bag. "Now pay attention, because I'm only going to do this once." Stiles started to mutter something sarcastic under his breath, but Lydia smacked his arm and got to work. First came some foundation, then she put on some light blush and then some cover-up to conceal what was left over. She finished by powdering the hell out of the glob of makeup to make sure that none of it rubbed off during the day. By the end, you could barely tell that anything was there, save for the fact that it was still swollen.

"Now take these," she said, handing him her make up case. "You use these in case you get any other nasty shiners. There's also some eyeliner and eyeshadow in thee, but that's just if you're feeling adventurous," she said, without a hint of sarcasm.

"I-I can't take these-" Stiles started to say, but Lydia cut him off.

"Oh please, like I don't have spares of everything in my locker, my car, and at home," she said before sweeping out the door. Stiles stood there speechlessly, holding his new acquisitions, before his senses finally returned. He stuffed the make-up bag into his backpack, said a quick apology to the girls in the bathroom, and slipped out.

* * *

Stiles bumped into Scott after school ended. Like, literally bumped into him, bouncing off of his thick torso and tumbling to the ground. "Have you considered employment as a brick wall? I'll bet there are plenty of opportunities out there for a guy as solid as you," he remarked.

Scott snorted as he kneeled down to help Stiles pick up the books and papers that had slipped out of his bag. He looked up to hand Stiles his belongings back and started to say something, but he glanced at Stiles' forehead and interrupted his own sentence."I-Hey, are you...wearing makeup?"

Stiles didn't know exactly what he said as he hastily gathered up his belongings and bolted, but he did vaguely remember muttering the words "accident", "counter", and "clumsy", so he was reasonably confident that he had stuck to his story.

Scott was an interesting case. Something about him just compelled Stiles to be more honest. Which he couldn't be, if his plan for escape were to remain on track. But Scott possessed an interesting combination of breathtaking abs and childlike innocence that made Stiles want to impress him and be as forthright as possible. He had taken to calling it the McCall Factor.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Scott standing there, looking a little dumbfounded and more than a little adorable. That McCall Factor was killer.

* * *

Melissa McCall was making dinner when Scott got home from practice. They traded off cooking for each other during the week; she took Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while he was at practice, and and he took Tuesday and Thursday while she was working at the hospital. It had been Scott's idea, as she only had an hour break for dinner in between shifts on his days. It started off a bit rocky at first, as he learned kitchen basics, but now he was pretty good. At least he rarely burned things anymore.

"Hi, Scott," she called as she heard his backpack hit the floor. "I figured we could have some spaghetti and watch a bad movie. I mean the mood to laugh at something stupid." Scott walked in, looking both confused and concerned, which was not unusual for him. "What's the matter, sweetie?"

Scott hesitated before answering, which was usually a sign that it was something he had been grappling with. "Mom," he said. "I bumped into Stiles today, and I'm pretty sure that he had a huge bruise on his head. It was covered with makeup really well, but it looked swollen. And when I asked him about, he started making excuses and practically ran away. I just...don't get it," he said, slumping into a chair in their little dining nook.

Melissa turned down the heat on the spaghetti. She didn't want to overcook it while she discussed difficult matters with her son. "All right," she said, sitting down across from him, "the only reason I'm telling you this is because you're in a unique position to help him, and I think that kid could use all the help he could get. He's in a really bad place right now, and he's been resisting getting out of it for years. But before I tell you anything I need you to promise that this stays between us. Can you do that?" Scott nodded, wide-eyed.

"Well," she began gently, "I believe the reason that he ran is because he's been the victim of abuse, and he's trying to cover it up." Scott's jaw dropped, shocked. "Being a nurse, I see quite a few of the people coming in. Stiles has come in repeatedly with some nasty cuts and concussions, but he always has some excuse about how he got it. He also never comes in with a parent or guardian, and refuses to give us contact information, so we're forced to call the police.

"After interviewing me several times, I learned that they've noticed a trend in noise complaints about his mother and his visits to the hospital and have come to the logical conclusion that Stiles' mother is a drunk and...to be blunt, she loses her temper and strikes him. And he covers for her."

Scott could barely process all this information. "Why-why would Stiles stay in a situation like that? Why doesn't he get help?"

"Probably, he doesn't want to be put into foster care or lose his independence. The problem is that we don't know about Stiles' psychological condition or whether or not his mother could escalate into serious bodily harm."

"So here's what I want you to do. First of all, keep this to yourself. No one is to know about this, all right? Secondly I want you to become Stiles best friend. Invite him over for dinner, hang out with him after school, have him come to your games, just do whatever you can to keep him out of the house. I want that woman's access to him as limited as possible."

"I-okay, but I have one more question," Scott said, somewhat timidly. "Why is his mom hurting him?"

Melissa sighed. "After her husband was slain, she started drinking. At first it seemed harmless, but it started getting worse and worse. She quit her job on very bad terms, and she either drew away from her friends, or they left her. Eventually, all she had left was alcohol and Stiles." She paused, staring off into the distance. "I feel sorry for her. What happened to her husband and her family was horrible. But it's still no excuse for her behavior."

She sat in silence for a second before getting up to return to her cooking. Before she reached the stove, Scott hugged her from behind, pressing his face into her back. "Thank you for staying strong after Dad left. I don't want to be in home like Stiles'," he said, his voice muffled by her short.

Melissa squeezed his hand comfortingly. 'Me neither,' she thought.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a few weeks later, in mid-November, before Scott could finally nail Stiles down for anything other than study sessions. He could tell that Stiles was actively avoiding him, but a natural disaster one afternoon forced Stiles into staying over at Scott's house for the night. It had been raining fairly hard for a couple of days, and on this particular Thursday evening, it was storming so hard that flash flood warnings had been issued, and people were encouraged to stay off the roads. The bus services had also been suspended, stranding Stiles unless he felt like walking home a few miles in pelting rain.

The boys had been working on homework since they had gotten there, pausing only to put his dog, Derek, in the basement and when Scott got a call from his mother, saying that she was stuck at the hospital and would probably be there all night.

"Done. Finally," Scott said, throwing his pencil down with a vengeance. He slumped over in his chair, looking exhausted. Knowing how he focused on his work, he probably was.

"All right. I'm at a good stopping place with this essay, too," Stiles replied. His stomach rumbled, the noise thankfully covered by Scott wrestling his homework into his backpack. "What time is it? I'm starving," he asked.

Scott glanced at his cell phone. "5:30. We could have dinner, if you want. We have a bunch of frozen food that would be good." He got up and headed to his freezer. He admired the contents before getting that lopsided grin across his face. "We could do what I've wanted to do forever and make a bunch of appetizers. I mean, we have pizza rolls and mozzarella sticks and a bunch of other junk food that I never get to eat. What do you think?"

In all honesty, Stiles would have been happier off with something a lot less processed, but he figured he'd indulge Scott. They prepared their dinner together, Scott chattering happily while Stiles listened, chiming in only occasionally. He generally didn't have anything to talk about unless it involved schoolwork, bus routes, or how to avoid pissing of an alcoholic matriarch. Besides, he enjoyed just watching Scott talk.

A flash of lightning and an immediate crack of thunder caused Stiles to jump. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, "caught me by surprise."

Scott smiled. "It's fine, dude. Hey, I'm going to put on some pajamas. I like wearing them when it's rainy. Do you want me to get you some? I just realized that you don't have anything to sleep in."

"Um, sure," Stiles replied, secretly pleased by the idea of sleeping in Scott's clothes. He liked Scott's smell. It was warmth, and joy, and love, and his shaggy black dog all rolled up into one convenient package. He watched their bite-sized food until Scott came back down the stairs.

He was wearing a loose athletic tank with the sides cut out and very clingy sweatpants that left little to the imagination. As he often had to do around Scott, Stiles began picturing various dissections from his anatomy textbook to quell his rising libido. Scott was very good at accidentally seducing Stiles. "Here," he said, "I got these out for you. They're pretty warm, and I can see you hiding your shivers. I'm gonna go check on Derek in the basement. You can go change in my room if you want. Up the stairs, to the left."

Scott jogged off to the basement as Stiles timidly went up the stairs to get changed. He didn't know what to expect as he pushed open the door, but he was pleasantly surprised. It was fairly neat, with a few posters of bands and movies on the walls and wheel-less skateboards here and there. Stiles pulled on the clothes Scott had given him. It was a henley style shirt and some flannel pants that actually were very warm, like he was being hugged all over at once.

Scott was pulling the food out of the oven when Stiles came back down. "Hey, I kind of just left my clothes in your room, I hope that's all right..." Stiles said timidly.

"That's totally fine, dude," Scott said. He inhaled deeply, squeezing his eyes shut. "These smell so good," he moaned, setting the pan down. He pulled out a couple of plates from a cabinet and started dishing them both up. "So, I thought we could watch a movie while we still have power. I kind of felt like watching a horror movie. The mood just feels right. Is that all right with you?"

"Sure," Stiles said amicably, although he honestly would have preferred anything else. Something chasing and torturing teenagers hit a little too close to home. He carried his plate into the McCalls' living room. Scott was curled up on one end of the couch, watching the previews. He tried to eat a pizza pocket, but spit it back out without even chewing it upon realizing how hot it was. Damn it, he was cute...Stiles sat on the opposite end of the couch, trying to make sure he wasn't touching Scott's feet with his own.

It actually wasn't that bad of a movie. It was horror, but not really a slasher type of horror. It was almost like a mystery movie. But it made Stiles jump enough times that his feet eventually slipped and brushed up against Scott's. He retracted as quickly he could but, it was too late. Scott gave him a look and said "Your feet are freezing. Hold on." He started rooting around the crevices of the couch and produced a blanket from in between the couch cushions. "Here," he said, opening it. He kneeled over Scott, covering him with the blanket. Stiles was staring directly at his chest, feeling the heat pour off of his body.

As Scott sat back down, Stiles suddenly felt very out of place. He felt like he didn't belong. Scott was treating him...normally, like there was nothing weird here. He realized what was wrong; this was what it felt like to be in an actual home. Living with his mother wasn't really about living so much as it was surviving, as cliche as that sounded. But here he was cared for, and looked after. He realized that this was what made Scott so irresistible. Scott cared for him. Whether it was as a brother, a friend, or a love interest, Stiles couldn't tell. But Stiles knew he had to re-double his efforts to keep Scott at a distance. He couldn't afford to fall for Scott and complicate things for himself.

It was just then that the power cut out, immersing them in darkness, save for the occasional flash of lightning. "Well, that sucks," Stiles said, after a minute of waiting to see if it would come back on. "What are our options?"

Stiles could hear Scott fumbling around on some bookshelves. "I thought we had a flashlight down here, but I guess not. I think that there are some upstairs." Lightning flashed again, and Stiles found that Scott was suddenly in front of him, with his hand outstretched. "Here," he said, as they everything went dark again, "I'll guide you."

Stiles took his hand nervously, as Scott helped him up. They began walking slowly, Scott with his hand out in front of him, going on what the occasional flash showed him. Stiles tried not to hold his hand too tightly, as he could feel his hand starting to sweat. Scott wasn't squeezing, but he definitely had a firm grip on Stiles hand. They finally made it to Scott's bedroom, where Scott sat Stiles down on the bed and told him to wait. He retrieved a few flashlights from a closet in the hallway, and thumped back downstairs to leave for his mom if she came home unexpectedly.

Scott finally came back up, and handed a flashlight to Stiles, while setting up the remaining couple around the room for some light. Stiles kept his beam of light pointed at the ceiling unsure of what to point it at. Scott found his phone and texted his mother alerting her of the situation. She didn't reply, probably being fairly busy at the hospital. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Stiles alone with his thoughts and Scott compulsively checking his phone until the latter suggested playing a game, seeing as how it was only seven o'clock.

Stiles agreed, thankful for anything to break the awkward silence. Scott pulled out Monopoly, in which Stiles took an early lead and never let it go. After three rounds of Stiles driving Scott into a crippling bankruptcy, Scott finally gave up. "So, now what?" Stiles asked, hoping to not go to bed yet. He had a bad feeling that Scott had just figured that they'd sleep in the same bed, and that would just be agonizing for him. Stiles had discovered he was a cuddler, as he woke up almost every morning hugging his pillow as if it were some form of feather-stuffed boyfriend.

"Unless you feel like playing Candyland, we're out of board games. We don't have a lot of games that aren't electronic," Scott replied. After a moment of hesitate tigon, he said "There is one thing we could do. How do you feel about...truth or dare?" Scott asked.

Stiles was deeply torn. On the one hand, he and Scott could end up doing something of the hooking up variety, and that was exactly what Stiles didn't want. On the other hand, he and Scott could end up doing something of the hooking up variety, and that was exactly what Stiles DID want. Somehow, he and Scott canoodling was both the best and worst case scenario. However, he couldn't come up with a better idea or an explanation as to why he was against it, so he acquiesced.

It started fairly tame, with them spending several rounds quizzing each other on future plans and crushes (Stiles finally revealed to Scott that he was gay and discovered that Scott was bisexual) and daring each other to do embarrassing things, like singing a stupid song or trying to do uncomfortable yoga Scott ratcheted up the ante by asking Stiles how he felt about him.

Stiles could've lied. Stiles  _should've_  lied. But that goddamned McCall Factor came in hard and pressured Stiles into telling the truth. "I-uh...oh god, this is awkward...I think you're the perfect combination of sweet and mind-blowingly hot, and I used to have a crush on you," he spat out, as quickly as he could. He grimaced as he finished, knowing that this wouldn't end well.

Scott unconsciously straightened up, his grin lighting up the dim room. "Really?" he asked, looking rather pleased. Stiles nodded, unclenching his teeth. That had gone smoother than expected. And now, it was payback time. Now that Scott had gotten the ball rolling, Stiles could use the game to his advantage.

"All right," he said, smirking. "Same question for you. How do you feel about me?"

Stiles could see Scott blush through the darkness, and they both knew that there was no ducking this question now. "I...I think you're really smart, and really mysterious, and also really cute. And your sarcasm is kind of a turn-on," he finished, feeling just as embarrassed as Stiles had felt. Or, to be more accurate, he was just as embarrassed as Stiles was now. It was not the answer he was expecting, but it was the answer he was hoping for. Trying to recover, Scott quickly asked "Truth or Dare?" He stared at Stiles, anticipation on his eyes.

Stiles chose dare, hoping to maneuver out of awkward territory. Scott, however, almost unconsciously said "Kiss me," still looking Stiles in the straight in the eyes. Stiles sat there, breathless, for what seemed like an eternity. Then he lunged forward, solidly planting his lips on Scott's.

They almost fell over, but Scott recovered his balance. His hands slid up Stiles' sides, one settling on his lower back and the other in Stiles' hair. Stiles' hands were pressed up against Scott's firm pecs, feeling his chest heave with breath. Stiles' forts kiss was magnificent and terrifying and overwhelming all at once. Scott's experienced lips seemed to move with an ebb and flow, and Stiles tried to follow suit. They finally broke off, foreheads pressed together, lips nearly an inch apart. "Wow," Scott finally said panting.

Stiles knelt back, unable to vocalize. Scott knew that the game wasn't really a game anymore. He moved as if he were going to rub Stiles' shoulder comfortingly, but thought against it, and opted to go lie down on the bed. After quiet reflection, Stiles joined him on the opposite side, both facing away from each other, although Stiles could hear Scott occasionally shift around to glance at him. They finally fell I asleep, Stiles dreaming almost exclusively of being held by Scott in various states of undress.


	5. Chapter 5

That kiss had ruined everything. Before their fateful sleepover, Stiles had been avoiding Scott, but what he was doing now was so much further. He was actively hiding from Scott, ducking into bathrooms, closets, and classrooms, some of which already had occupants, to the dismay of everyone involved. He had successfully escaped Scott all through Friday, and leaving him the weekend to regroup. Grocery shopping provided a nice catharsis for him, some free time to wander the aisles and air out the mess that was cluttering his brain.

Stiles had been tutoring Scott for almost three months without incident, and then this. Immediately after the kiss, everything just stopped. Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his ears and his lips were tingling, as if Scott's were still there. They both instinctively knew that the game was over, and went to bed in silence. The next morning, the rain having subsided temporarily, Stiles got up with the sole purpose of escape. He put his shoes on, grabbed his clothes, and ran, catching a bus that was mercifully back on its scheduled routine. It was only after he got home that he realized that the pajamas he had fled wearing were Scott's, and not his own.

It wasn't that the kiss was bad, because dear god, it wasn't. Having never been kissed before, he had no basis for comparison, but he knew that kiss something special. Soft and tender, mouths moving in sync, it was all Stiles could think about. But goddammit, even if it was the best thing to happen to him in years, it could be very well be the start of something terrible as well. If he and Scott became...entangled, then things would invariably get messy. What if they got serious? What if Scott didn't want to leave? What if he wanted Stiles to stay with him? Stiles didn't need much, but he needed to get out of this town.

Plus, he was damaged. Physically, mentally, emotionally...check the box for "all of the above". Now, he wasn't damaged permanently, mind you, but he knew that recovery would take a while. And Scott deserved someone that didn't come with so much baggage. Scott had a refreshing naivete about him that deserved preserving. The moment that Stiles started to share, that innocence would be shattered, and Stiles wouldn't be held responsible for that.

The burnt bottom of this bullshit stew left was the possible outcome of the relationship. What if they got together and broke up? First of all, the last thing Stiles wanted to do was hurt Scott. Secondly, he wasn't sure that he could handle a breakup with Scott. All that rejection and loss would probably just be too much to take. Not to mention the inevitable breakup guilt. Oh, that would come by the busload. There were several outcomes to a romantic engagement:

(1) Scott and Stiles get together, and have several months of happy, goofy, kissy fun. Before graduation, they realize that they're not meant to be and break up. Minimal heartbreak, clean getaway.

(2) Scott and Stiles get together, and have several months of happy, goofy, kissy fun. Before graduation, it is revealed that Scott plans to stay while Stiles wants to leave. Heavy breakup with unrequited love and "what ifs", but still a clean getaway.

(3) Scott and Stiles get together, and have several months of happy, goofy, kissy fun. After graduation, Scott goes with Stiles to college, and they continue their happy, goofy, kissy fun. Eventually, they realize that they're not meant to be and break up. Heavy breakup, no getting away.

(4-6) Copy and paste options 1-3, only this time, include "Stiles divulges the years of loneliness and abuse at the hands of his sole surviving relative and shatters Scott's poor, sweet heart. Scott worries over Stiles and treats him like the victim of a horrible war crime, accidentally infantilizing him in the process. Stiles mourns the loss of his independence, and the carefree relationship they once had. Scott and Stiles breakup, neither one leaving intact."

(7) Scott and Stiles get together, and have several months of happy, goofy, kissy fun. After graduation, Scott goes with Stiles to college, and they continue their happy, goofy, kissy fun. They fall in love and get married (depending on the state), and live happily ever after, much to the joy of the villagers and small woodland creatures that would no doubt accompany this fairytale.

Stiles didn't like his odds. A tap on the shoulder startled him out of his reverie. He jumped and spun around, finding Lydia. She was looking like him like he had sprouted an extra head. "You okay?" she asked. "That response was way out of proportion to the stimulus."

He sighed. "I wasn't expecting company. And stop throwing your science around, everyone knows you're they heavyweight champion in academics in this town." He looked down in her basket, noticing a smoothie and some cheese and crackers. "What's this?" he asked, in mock surprise. "None of those are negative calories! Can you afford such a heavy load?"

She scoffed, a Lydia Martin specialty. "I'll thank you not to look at my purchases, Mr. 'Nothing-But-Sodium'. Now where were you just now? I'm assuming pondering the deep, infinite mysteries of the universe, judging by how engrossed in though you were."

"Cut the sarcasm," he snapped. "I have a real problem."

Lydia arched her eyebrow, and Stiles could have sworn that her ears actually perked up at the thought of gossip. "Oh? Let me hear it, I love giving advice."

Stiles considered resisting for a moment, but then remembered another Lydia Martin specialty (one of many), her tenacity. There was a glimmer in her eyes that dared him to try and hide something from her. "All right," he relented, "I have a problem. There's...a boy. And I think he might be interested in me. God knows I'm interested in him. The problem is, due to several personal reasons that I'm keeping to myself, I can't get involved with him. I'm worried that he might want to start something, though."

Lydia pursed her lips. "A conundrum," she said thoughtfully. "But it's a pretty easy fix. Be upfront. Tell him how you feel. Use your big boy words."

"Ugh, fine," Stiles groused. "I knew that was the answer, but I was hoping that you would tell me to hide under a rock until this all blows over."

They paced the aisles in a thoughtful silence. Stiles pondered how he could break this to Scott, keeping their small friendship going. Of course, he had to make it seem like he wasn't assuming that Scott wanted to start something, because he wasn't even sure he was. Wouldn't that be awkward to tell someone that nothing could happen, and they weren't even planning on starting something? Lydia interrupted his thoughts with a soft suggestion.

"You could do a lot worse than Scott McCall."

He wasn't surprised that Lydia knew who he was talking about, but he kept up appearances anyway. "What makes you think it's Scott?" he asked.

Lydia gave a little smile. "Please, Stiles, the only people you talk to are him and me. And I'm not a boy." They continued silently walking to nowhere in particular. Stiles looked at the colorful packages they were passing by without actually seeing them. All he could see was Scott.

"It's going to be Christmas soon," Lydia said.

"It is. This year has sort of rushed by, hasn't it?"

"It really has." Keeping their meandering pace, she led them to the registers. "I have a party every year. Nothing big, just for a few friends. I'd like to invite you when the time comes. What do you think?"

Stiles smiled, thankful for the non-pressuring invitation. "I don't know. I don't drink."

Lydia snorted. "It's not that kind of party. It's quiet, mellow. A few people, some good food, a couple of movies. It's relaxing. Feel free to say no. Just know that I'll be judging you from now till then."

"As if you're not already."

* * *

Stiles found himself in Scott's bedroom. Suddenly, muscled arms wrapped themselves around him, and soft lips found their way to his neck. They kissed gently, making their way up to his jaw. One hand caressed Stiles' chest while the other unbuttoned his pants, letting them drop to the floor. Stiles turned around to face Scott. Scott wore nothing, already fully erect. His hands cupped Stiles' face, pulling him in for a kiss.

It was just as he remembered; sweet, tender, passionate, but above all, caring. How Scott managed to convey to so much love and emotion with just a kiss was beyond Stiles' knowledge. All Stiles could contribute was virginity and enthusiasm, which he hoped made up for the deficit. Scott's hand gripped the back of Stiles' head, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Stiles was vaguely aware of his underwear falling to the ground, but he was too preoccupied with feeling Scott's naked chest.

Stiles found himself on the bed, laying on his back with Scott above him. He wasn't sure when they had made their way there, but they had done it without breaking their passionate kiss. Scott did eventually break off, moving back down to worship Stiles' neck, slowly moving down to his chest. Stiles let out little whimpers and moans, running his fingers through Scott's hair and up and down his back.

It was at this point that Stiles woke up from his steamy dream, horny and disoriented. He sat up, looking around for Scott for a split second before remembering that he was at home. Even with his pajamas on, he felt bare and naked. But, try as he might, he couldn't recall the sensation of Scott making love to him with his lips. He lie down again, on the verge of tears. That kiss had ruined everything.


	6. Chapter 6

The following Monday, Lydia cornered Stiles at lunch. "Did you talk to him yet?" She asked, almost aggressively. She plopped down her tray, which held only a salad, carrot sticks, and a bottle of water.

"Hello to you too. Do you ever eat anything with some substance? Surely you must have a protein deficiency," he replied, trying to sound concerned.

She gave him a squinty glare. "I'm having chicken for dinner, and I have a protein shake in my locker. Now quit changing the subject, did you talk to him?" she stabbed her salad, chewing it vigorously.

Stiles considered lying, but he knew that Lydia would see through it. She had always been able to see through him. "No, not yet," he sighed. "I'm still trying to figure out what to say." He glanced across the lunchroom to where Scott always sat, watching him laugh with his friends. Scott didn't seem as preoccupied with this as Stiles did. Maybe it wouldn't be as stressful or awkward as Stiles kept thinking it would be.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, it really shouldn't be that hard," she snapped. "Just tell him that what happened was a mistake and it can't happen again. I do that all the time with guys I only want to sleep with once."

"That's...that's wonderful, Lydia. I really needed to know that. My life felt incomplete with that knowledge," Stiles monotoned.

"Talk to him," Lydia commanded, exerting her absolute authority.

* * *

"Him? You kissed 'Stale'? Jesus, Scott, I thought you had some standards," Jackson said incredulously.

"His name is Stiles, be nice," Danny shushed. He turned his attention back to Scott. "Was it something that you wanted? You don't seem all that happy about it."

Scott, as was his custom, sat with a few other boys from the lacrosse team at lunch. Danny Mahealani was the only other queer boy at the table, being gay. Both Jackson Whittemore and Isaac Lahey were straight, although it was worth noting that Jackson greatly enjoyed male attention. He was very fond of his visually stunning ass.

Scott had just finished relating what had happened with Stiles over the weekend, having mixed emotions over the entire episode. One the one hand, that kiss had been great. Stiles tasted sweet, and his lips were so soft. Scott had experienced very vivid dreams involving those lips over the following nights. The kind of dreams that made nice boys like Scott blush. On the other hand, when he had woken up, Stiles had already left, and it was still early morning. It seemed pretty obvious that Stiles wasn't comfortable with what happened.

He shrugged, trying to sort through his emotions. "I mean...I liked it, but I don't think it was the right thing to do. I mean, we barely know each other, and I don't think he really wants a relationship."

Isaac shook his head. "I don't see what the issue is. He doesn't want it, so you don't do anything. Move on."

"What if Scott wants to pursue the relationship? That puts him in an awkward position," Danny sighed.

Jackson snorted derisively. "That's where the "move on" part comes in. If 'Stale' doesn't want it, then Scott should just find someone else," he fired back.

The other three boys kept bickering while Scott debated with himself. He was definitely interested in Stiles, but he wasn't sure about pursuing a relationship. If they broke up, then he couldn't exactly keep on eye on Stiles for his mom. Plus, Stiles hadn't actually ever had a boyfriend. That worked against them for multiple reasons. In his mind, for plus that he came up with for getting together with Stiles, there were at least three minuses. Scott had his decision.

* * *

It was with great trepidation that Stiles finally approached Scott after school. They both walked through the hall slowly, as if something tragic were about to occur. Which, for all they knew, it could. When they finally did reach each other, they spoke softly, both to soften the blow to the other and to try to maintain their privacy from eavesdroppers. "Hey," Scott said.

"Hi," came Stiles' quiet reply. "I think we both realized that we need to talk." He looked into Scott's sweet eyes and hoped to whatever god was listening that he didn't hurt him. Stiles' mouth felt dry as he started speaking. "Last weekend was...unexpected. And it's not that it was bad. It's just that it can't...happen right now. Us, I mean. We can't happen."

Scott nodded in agreement. "That's what I thought. I think we got caught up in the heat of the moment and got a little carried away. But I'm glad that we're on the same page," he said honestly. There was a slight pause before he asked nervously "Hey, do you have any...plans for Thanksgiving on Thursday? Because my mom wanted to know if you wanted to come over."

Stiles was taken aback. He of course had no plans, but he wasn't sure that going over to Scott's house was the best idea. But dear God, he wanted to. He wanted to so badly. He had a brief internal struggle with himself, which he lost (he had been losing with alarming frequency lately) and said "Um, sure, that sounds great. Do you just want to have a study session and I'll just stay for dinner..?"

Scott grinned that irresistible grin (Stiles came so close to kissing him again) and said "That should work out well. This is kind of exciting. I can't wait for Thursday."

* * *

_Stiles gasped as Scott's hot mouth enveloped the head of his hard dick. Scott began moving up and down slowly, his tongue dancing delicately on the sensitive ridged edge of Stiles' member. Stiles moaned in ecstasy, his back arching. One of Scott's hands held Stiles' hip, while the other explored his smooth stomach._

_The sensations running through Stiles' body were heavenly. Every place where Scott touched tingled, his touch electric. Stiles unconsciously gripped at the sheets on the bed. Scott mouth was working miracles on Stiles' body, as shivers ran up and down his spine. Before long, he had to sit up and stop Scott. "Wait," he panted. "I don't want to finish just yet. It's your turn now." He laid Scott on his back and kissed him passionately. Then he kissed his way down Scott chest, pausing to worship Scott's developing six-pack. He then leaned back into a kneeling position and with a quick breath, pulled off Scott boxer briefs._

_Scott moaned exactly as Stiles had when he had sucked Stiles. Stiles was surprised to find that it was surprisingly instinctual. He slowly began moving up and down Scott's thick member, his tongue gliding down the shaft. Scott moaned again, and ran his hands through Stiles' hair. Stiles kept sucking, taking in some of Scott's preemptive fluids. He pushed down further, only to discover that he had no gag reflex. Scott gasped, and loudly said "Fuck." He grabbed the sides of Stiles' head and guided him back up. "Holy shit, Stiles," he whispered, breathing heavily. "Why didn't you warn me that you could deep throat?". Stiles blushed. "I didn't know that I could until just then."_

_Scott laughed softly, then leaned in and kissed him, his tongue exploring Stiles' mouth. He pulled back suddenly. "What is that taste?". Stiles blushed even further and said quietly, "You." Scott grinned cheekily. "Wow," he said, "I taste GOOD." He slammed his lips back against Stiles', and their tongues grappled in an oral battle. Scott pushed Stiles down until he was laying flat, and then held himself above him, still kissing, their erections rubbing against each other._

_Stiles pushed against Scott chest gently so that their lips disconnected. "I'm ready for it." And as if to prove it, Stiles spread his legs, revealing his perfect pink rosebud. Scott lubricated himself with some saliva on his hand and positioned himself on top of Stiles. Before he entered, he looked at Stiles. "If it starts to hurt, let me know immediately," he warned. Stiles nodded. "Do it," he said. And with that, Scott pushed inside of Stiles._

_Stiles gasped immediately. Scott stopped just as quickly, but Stiles shook his head. "Keep going," he said. Scott began again, very aware of how tight Stiles was. He was considering stopping again, but was surprised to find that he was all the way inside. "Open your eyes, Stiles," he said gently. Stiles did, and a look of comfort entered his face and their eyes connected. "That's it," he said with a soft smile. "I'm all in." He leaned forward and kissed Stiles' perfect lips. Stiles smiled as they disconnected. "It's time for the fun part, then," he said with a devilish smile._

_Scott grinned. He liked this confident Stiles. It was, well, hot. And with that, Scott pulled back started really penetrating Stiles. He started slowly at first, not wanting to hurt Stiles. But when Stiles started moaning 'faster,' Scott picked up the pace. He eventually settled into a steady tempo. Stiles, meanwhile started passionately kissing Scott's neck, with occasional moans mixed in._

_Stiles moaned again as Scott was fucking him. He had never felt this way before. It was a mixture of passion, love, and lust. He could feel Scott slamming into him, his thick rod slipping in and out of him. He looked into Scott's eyes and cried in a desperate voice "Faster, Scott. Fuck me faster." A look of animal frenzy entered Scott's eyes as he complied, ramming into Stiles with seeming reckless abandon._

_That was what did it for Stiles. He managed to pant "Sc-Scott, I'm-I'm-" and shot his load all over his torso. Scott moaned, pulled out of Stiles, and released all over Stiles' stomach and chest. He collapsed next to Stiles, both of them panting heavily. They looked over at each other, and shared a closing kiss, both passionate and romantic at the same time._

Scott woke up heaving, with the front of his underwear suspiciously wet. 'Damn it,' he thought, 'I think I need a boyfriend.'


	7. Chapter 7

At lunch the next day, Stiles found himself once again ambushed by Lydia. He briefly considered not acknowledging it, but his caustic nature got the better of him. "If you're here to yell at me about talking to Scott, I already did. We both came to the same conclusion, so everything's fine. Feel free to return to your world."

He was met with an openly hostile glare from her. "Hey, don't be rude. I'm here because we're friends, but we won't be for long if you continue with that attitude"

Stiles was taken aback. He hadn't really put much thought into his present relationship with Lydia. Now that he thought about it, they had been getting together a lot. Their weekend grocery shopping trips had become a regular thing, and they'd actually eaten lunch together a few times now. "I-Sorry. I didn't realize you considered me a friend," he admitted.

Lydia shrugged it off. "Whatever. I know you're a dumbass. I'm used to it by now. Although I think you guys should've gotten together."

"You do? Why? It's not like we have anything in common," Stiles said in surprise.

Lydia sighed in exasperation, a common occurrence with her. "You guys like each other. Isn't that enough? I mean, it's good enough for everyone else, why not you guys?"

"If you're referring to our classmates, half the time they don't even like each other." Stiles scoffed. "It's just for popularity points. I mean, what was with you and Michael Striker? I know for a fact that you couldn't stand that misogynistic cretin."

Lydia gritted her teeth, frustration showing in her features. "Okay, don't even bring up Striker. That was during my 'I can fix guys up' phase, which he successfully brought to a screeching end. Besides, you and Scott actually do like each other, and neither one of you is a terrible person. You guys could actually make it work."

Stiles shook his head. "If you mean we have a future together, the chances of that are very slim. As soon as we graduate in a couple years, I'm outta here, and I'm not looking back. I need a clean break, and I can't do that if I have Scott to worry about. I don't need anymore baggage before I leave."

"Fine. Just know that you're missing out on someone really special. Anyway, that's not even why I'm here. I wanted to know if you've decided whether or not you're coming to my party."

"I'm going to go with 'no.' I'm just not a party person."

"Pfft. Please, that's just because you've never been to one of  _my_  parties," Lydia teased. "I don't throw raging hormone cesspools, my parties are classy and fun. I spend all day baking hors d'oeuvres and we have a white elephant gift exchange and we watch some holiday movies and why are you shaking your head? Are you still not interested in coming to my excellent party?"

Stiles smiled as congenially as he could manage. "Sorry, I'm just not a party person. I'm sure your social gathering is pleasant and lovely and all kinds of nice adjectives, but I'm just...uncomfortable at social functions. I never have anything to talk about other than schoolwork, and I don't even know anyone. It's just not fun for me."

Lydia gave him an imperious look. "I'll get you yet, Stilinski. One way or another, you'll come to my party."

* * *

"Really? Stiles?  _That's_  who you're having sex dreams about? Honestly, McCall, I don't think you know how to be gay," Jackson said mockingly. Several people in the hallway surrounding them craned their necks around, trying to figure out who was having the gay sex dreams.

Scott blushed profusely. He had approached Jackson for advice in dealing with his feelings for Stiles. Scott had just finished telling him about his dream, which Jackson immediately mocked. "Could you keep it down? I don't want the entire school knowing!" he asked quietly. "Also, why is your reaction always disbelief? What's wrong with Stiles?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "First of all, last time I came anywhere near talking to him, he barely had a personality. Also, why are you even asking me? Danny's a lot better with this mushy crap."

"You've got the most experience dating," Scott replied. "So what should I do?"

Jackson sighed. "You guys decided not to pursue things, right?" he asked.

Scott nodded. "We both had our reasons, so we decided that nothing would happen. I can't get him off my mind though. We had a connection that night."

"I'm going to tell you the same thing all my ex-girlfriends' friends tell them: the best way to get over a man is to get under a new one."

"Like, start dating a new guy?" Scott asked, confused.

Jackson gave a nod that was somehow both wise and sardonic at the same time. "Find a new guy and fuck him. It's been forever since you've had sex, it's no wonder you're literally cumming in your pants."

Scott blushed again, but pressed on anyway. "Okay, but who? I don't exactly have a line of guys waiting to date me." It was actually a valid point. Their school and even their community was friendly to the queer community for the most part. However, it wasn't exactly a thriving gay paradise. To put it bluntly, pickings were slim.

Jackson grinned a slightly perverted grin. "That twinky little freshman Liam has been staring at you in the locker room. Why don't you get on that? He's got a nice ass."

Scott's blush deepened. "Wait, in a sexual way? He was actually watching me?"

Jackson shrugged. "I think I'd actually call it eye-fucking. He seemed to be waiting for your towel to drop every time you came out of the shower. I swear, he was actually panting one time. Definitely a power bottom."

"Have I ever told you how weird it is that you're so up on gay terminology?"

"Well,  _one_  of us should be."

* * *

Stiles meandered after Lydia, wandering the aisles of the supermarket. It was still the day before Thanksgiving, and he had no idea why she had dragged him there. School today had ended in a half-day, after which Lydia had immediately scooped him up without listening to any protests. Since then she had been wandering around the store, talking incessantly about what she was considering making for her parties, and what she wished was in season, and how she had found a new recipe that she could try, and Stiles just wandered around behind her, with an occasional "mm-hmm" or "sure". Finally, she stopped her one-sided conversation with him and actually asked a question. "So, what are you bringing to the McCalls' dinner tomorrow?"

Stiles started, surprised originally that she was actually addressing him and secondly at the question itself. Bring something? No one said anything bringing anything. He racked his brain, remembering Scott's invitation, convinced that the other boy had said nothing about bringing anything. "Uh, nothing," he said. "They didn't tell me to bring anything."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean that you  _don't_  bring anything," she said, as if this were something everyone but he knew. "It's a rule of etiquette that you never show up empty-handed to an event, especially something as intimate as a Thanksgiving dinner. So what are you bringing?" she asked, in an almost accusatory fashion.

He noticed that Lydia had subtly guided them into a Thanksgiving aisle. She was shrewd, that girl. Always two steps ahead of him. "Um, how about a platter?" he asked, pointing at large dish holding veggies and dip.

"No crudités," she said, shaking her head. "They're just like the name suggests: crude. Plus, they show a lack of thought and seem last minute. Especially chips and dip. Leave those for relaxed, casual parties. Next option?"

Stiles sensed that this would go on for a while. "How about rolls? Rolls are nice. And I know that they're common at Thanksgiving dinners."

"Sure they are, but if you're bringing them, they should be handmade. Anyone could go out and buy rolls. You want to show that you're appreciative and that you put a lot of thought into your gift. What's next?"

Stiles sighed. "Why don't you just tell me what I can and can't bring? Otherwise we could be at this for hours."

Lydia grinned. "Giving up already? All right, fine, I'll lecture you. Now, we already hit crudités, but lets talk about other hors d'oeuvres. Cheese or pastry based are popular items, although I've made a number featuring vegetables that fare well. Also, I tend to avoid meat or fish based appetizers because you never know if someone is vegetarian, and I like to be accommodating. Unless there is a specific reason, don't worry about making vegan options. It's difficult, and lot of people will avoid vegan food. But if you're going to bring them, they should always be homemade. The same rules apply for desserts. Not a bad idea to bring, but always homemade."

"A lot of this stuff needs to be homemade," Stiles noted. "I'm guessing it's more of that 'appreciative and thoughtful' stuff that you were talking about earlier?"

"Precisely," Lydia replied with a slight smile. "Showing that you're thankful to be invited and want to contribute is paramount. However, you don't want to steal attention from the host, so no entrees unless you're asked to bring them. An entree can be seen as you not trusting the hosts abilities or you coming across as a picky eater, both of which you should avoid. The same goes for side dishes: only if you're asked. It might be okay if it's a special, unique recipe that you really want to share, but that's really it. With side dishes, you run the risk of them clashing with the meal, or even accidentally making the same thing that the host is making. I had a boyfriend who brought jalapeño poppers to a fish dinner I was serving once, and while it was sweet, I was livid. Mostly because he put WAY too much chili powder in them, and my guests were hacking up a lung after eating them."

"I think I'll just avoid making spicy foods in general," Stiles said, chuckling. He could just imagine Lydia in a cocktail dress fuming amidst a dinner party full of choking guests. It was both funny and terrifying.

Lydia nodded gravely. "Wise decision. Anyway, the safest option is a bottle of wine. However, seeing as you're under 21, the equivalent would be sparkling cider or another drink of similar fashion. I've always been fond of sparkling lemonade.

"Hold on a second, why is wine a good gift? That seems like the rest of the store bought items, kind of last minute. Plus, it could clash with the hosts meal, too," Stiles argued.

Lydia smiled, as if she had been waiting for him to ask this. "Ah, but wine can serve an entirely different purpose. First of all, a good bottle of wine is just a great gift. Secondly, wine can be enjoyed all by its lonesome, before or after dinner. With the right bottle of wine, you're saying 'Not only am I grateful for being invited, but I'd also like to sit around and just talk with you, because I enjoy your presence'."

"Wow, I didn't know wine could say so much."

"Wine can be very chatty," she replied, without a trace of irony. "Anyway, if you have no idea what to bring in the world of edible goods, there are other ways to go. Flowers are kind of a last resort, but if you do bring them, just know that the rule is bouquet for a dinner party and a potted plant for a house call. One time, I brought a gift bag of candles to my grandmother when she was in the hospital. She particularly enjoyed those."

"Who are you, Emily Post?" he asked incredulously.

Lydia scoffed. "Please, she has nothing on me. She's a good place to start, but she left holes. There are so many more intricacies than she cared to admit."

Stiles rolled his eyes as she criticized one of the foremost masters of etiquette. "You should consider a career as an event planner. With your knowledge of social customs and domineering attitude, you'd be a force to be reckoned with."

"I considered it. But who ever heard of an event planner with a PhD in neuroscience?" she asked wryly. Stiles smiled at that. "Anyway, what are you getting for the dinner?"

"I think I'll go with a couple of bottles of sparkling cider," he said, pulling them off the shelf and putting them in Lydia's basket. "I have neither the time nor ability to cook or bake anything. I can't believe that food is so taboo."

"It's not taboo, it's just hard to coordinate. I've got a hundred stories like that jalapeño popper one and what the hell are you pulling out of that fridge?" Stiles stopped in the middle of retrieving a pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwich, caught off guard by Lydia's sudden change in topic. She pressed on. "First of all, pre-made sandwiches are terrible, everybody knows that. Secondly, peanut butter is so bad for you, especially with all the fat and sodium in it. Third, is that your lunch? Because that's sad. No fruits, no vegetables, all carbs. Have I taught you nothing?"

Stiles let out a loud, clearly fake laugh. "You sound like health class last year. That class just pissed me off. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people lecturing me on what I should or shouldn't do, especially when it comes to food. Like, if you want to eat super healthy 100% all the time always, that's great. But it's just not for me. Besides what I eat isn't even that bad. See, this peanut butter is a little bit high in saturated fat, but it's got a pretty good amount of monounsaturated fats and polyunsaturated fats, which are the 'good' fats. Now, in order to get around the saturated fat, some people have almond butter? However, that tastes like Satan's lies. So I'll stick with peanut butter."

Lydia stood through this entire tirade with a look of mild interest. "Had that monologue planned for a while, have you?" she asked amusedly.

Stiles shrugged, slightly out of breath. "I don't get the chance to use them that often. I've been saving that on up for about a year."

They walked toward the registers in silence until Lydia finally struck the conversation back up. "So, what are you guys even going to talk about tomorrow?"

"I don't even know," Stiles sighed softly. "Grades, college, career plans, maybe the lacrosse team. I just hope that we don't run out of topics before dinner is over. There are some topics that I don't even want to broach."

"Like why you and Scott aren't banging?"

He gave Lydia a stern glare before relenting. "Well, kind of. I'm sort of hoping that we can just move past that. But I'm not sure because I don't know how much he tells her his mom or what she'll want to talk about."

"I hear he's moving on," she said casually.

"What? Where did you hear that? What do you mean?"

She gave him an 'I told you so' look. "Ooh, interested because our man candy didn't take any time getting over you? One of my little spies says that Scott and Jackson were talking about finding some other guy for Scott to work out his sexual frustration on. So kudos for turning him on, but it backfired, because now he's on the market."

Stiles was torn. On the one hand, he didn't want to be with Scott. Clean break, no ties, yada yada yada. But on the other hand, he wanted nothing more than to be with Scott. To wander the halls hand in hand, to cuddle while watching a movie, spending the night together...he didn't know why but he wanted that. But he would be damned if he let Scott, or even Lydia, know. "Hey, I'm just surprised that there's anyone else to date in this school. We're not exactly bursting with queer students."

"You're so transparent. Anyway, I hear there's a cute boy on the lacrosse team that's been eyeing him."

Stiles nodded in an attempt to seem casual. "Good for him. I'm surprised we have so many athletic gay men, though. Not exactly stereotypical." He kept babbling about the merits of having a diverse queer population while Lydia listened, a knowing look on her face.


	8. Chapter 8

On Thanksgiving, Stiles showed up at the McCall's door promptly at 5 for Scott's tutoring session. Lydia had lectured him on dress code for event such as these, but not having anything particularly formal, Stiles had settled for his nicest polo and jeans, plus a marron sweater that could mistaken for festive. He was not met by Scott, but by his mother. Stiles and Melissa McCall had met several times at the hospital, but the only conversations they ever had were procedural, consisting heavily of Melissa checking out Stiles' cover story for how he acquired such suspicious injuries and gently giving him directions as she gave him a thorough physical examination. Her tone had always been calm, but dry, although Stiles had learned how to pick up on hints of judgement or worry in her voice. It was a necessity when trying to hide his mother's attacks.

Today, however, Mrs. McCall was warm and cheery, full of the kind of love that you see from those women who consider every child on the block their own children, especially those in desperate need of mothering. "Stiles," she exclaimed, swinging the door open, you're right on time! What's this?" she asked, gesturing to the couple of sparkling apple cider Stiles had picked up the day before.

"Um, these are for you. I just wanted to contribute something to the dinner, and rumor has it that I'm too young to bring wine," he said trying to be funny. Personally, he felt it was one of his weaker bits, but Mrs. McCall laughed all the same.

"You're so sweet, I can't believe you did this for us! Come on in. I've sort of monopolized the kitchen getting dinner ready, so you guys will be working in Scott's room. He's in the shower, so feel free to see yourself up. You know where it is don't you?" Stiles nodded, and headed up the stairs.

Very little had changed in Scott's room. Not that much should have changed. It hadn't been that long that he and Scott had been in here, hiding from the storm. Perhaps the reason why it felt like the bedroom should have been different was that their relationship was so much more different. Before the kiss, they had been much more platonic, whereas afterwards, everything was marked by a strangling sexual tension. There had been tension there before, no doubt about it, but now it had multiplied, and it was putting a slight strain on their relationship. They were avoiding eye contact, blushing, stammering - who knows, maybe Scott pursuing someone else would be a good thing. Take some of the pressure off.

Of course, all of that went right out the window as soon as Scott sauntered in. He was still dripping wet from the shower, another goddamn towel wrapped around his waist. Did that boy ever actually dry off entirely before leaving the bathroom? Or get changed within twenty minutes of the shower? Did he like the breeze in between in his legs? Was he doing this just to taunt Stiles? 'Look what you're missing,' his body seemed to say, 'all of this could be yours.'

"Oh, you're here already," he said, blushing. "I thought I had time-I forgot my clothes in here, I'll just grab them and be right back..." he said rushing to his closet. Unfortunately for Scott, his towel disagreed with this plan of action, choosing to cling to his dresser and falling completely off of his body. For a split second, Stiles was treated to a completely naked Scott before he immediately forced his eyes up to the ceiling and Scott raced to re-affix his towel. He stammered multiple half-apologies before grabbing some clothes and dashing out. Today might not go as smoothly as Stiles had hoped it would.

* * *

"Are you boys done studying already?" Mrs. McCall called from the kitchen as Scott and Stiles filed downstairs.

"Yeah, we decided that my brain is full for the day," Scott replied wearily. That had indeed been the consensus an hour and a half in. It seemed to Stiles that Scott was preoccupied with something else. He had been distracted all through their tutoring session, staring off into space, and accidentally writing the same sentences on his paper over and over again, as if he wasn't paying attention. It wasn't like Stiles was any better though; he himself had been caught up in his thoughts, wondering what Scott was thinking about and who he could possibly be considering dating.

"Well, it looks like I timed this perfectly then, because dinner is ready," she said as she came to greet them.

There was food everywhere. Mashed potatoes, garlic potatoes, carrots, green beans, peas, asparagus, rolls, split pea soup, squash soup, gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and a small but magnificent smelling turkey. There was barely any room left on the table for them to put their dishes on. Mrs. McCall encouraged them to pile the food high, declaring that everybody there would get at least seconds and have dessert.

Conversation flowed naturally and comfortably. Stiles had been anticipating less talk of "how's school" and "college plans" and more Spanish Inquisition of his home life. But Mrs. McCall kept the conversation light and happy.

Whatever Scott had been wrestling with during their tutoring session, he seemed to have resolved it by the time they started dinner, because he was back to his normal, chipper self, engaging in conversation and not accidentally maiming himself with his fork like Stiles was worrying he might.

* * *

"Oh my god, I can't eat another thing," Stiles moaned. His stomach was so full it felt like a bowling ball. "Everything was so good, Mrs. McCall. Where did you learn to cook like that?"

Mrs. McCall smiled modestly. "It wasn't all that much," she replied. "Just following the recipe. If I was a real cook, I would've experimented with the recipe, or found some way to make it easier, or added some kind of twist. Any could have done this."

"I couldn't," Stiles said honestly. "Besides, sometimes simpler is better. I mean, this meal was proof of that."

She blushed and gave him a quick peck on the forehead. "You are just the sweetest kid, you know that? I'm sending you home with leftovers, by the way. We've got a ton left. Scott'll drive you home so you don't have to ride the bus with it all. Trust me, it's going to be a lot."

"Um, okay. Thanks Mrs. McCall, that's really nice."

"Oh, please," she snorted. "Like we could eat all this ourselves? Actually, Scott probably could, but nobody wants to see that. Honestly, you're doing me a favor."

Stiles grinned. "If you say so. Hey, do you need any help with that?" She was still bustling back and forth between the table and the kitchen, removing dishes still heavily laden with food.

"Oh no, dear, I'm fine. Besides, you're our guest, you're not supposed to work. And Thanksgiving isn't even done yet. Every year since he was a kid, Scott has watched that Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special on TV. Why don't you go join him. I don't mind cleaning up in here."

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked, unconvinced. Mrs. McCall only responded by pushing him gently out of the room. He paused anxiously, then meandered slowly into the den.

Scott was already on the couch, his shaggy, black dog Derek curled up next to him. Derek's tail started thumping as Stiles approached. Scott looked up and smiled at him. He patted the couch on the other side of Derek, indicating for Stiles to sit. Stiles plopped on the couch, feeling slightly awkward. Scott turned his attention back to the screen, his hand now rubbing Derek slowly.

Stiles didn't know when he started rubbing Derek as well, but he became aware of it when his hand brushed up against Scott's. He froze, staring straight ahead, waiting for Scott to react. Scott didn't react though. It wasn't like he didn't notice. He kept petting Derek, his fingers deliberately stroking Stiles'. Stiles slowly began to move his own fingers again, massaging Derek's fur, his and Scott's fingers making continuous contact.

They only stopped when the movie ended. Mrs. McCall walked in with a couple of heavy looking bags, and Derek bounded off the couch to greet her. "Okay, I've packed everything I possibly could into these bags, so you should have about a week, maybe a week and a half of food. Scott, you're okay to take him home, right?" She handed Stiles the bags, who almost immediately dropped them due to the weight.

Scott laughed and took one of the bags from him. "Yeah, I can drive him home. Are you ready to go now?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," Stiles replied. "Thanks."

Most of the ride home was silent, save for Stiles giving Scott directions. It wasn't an awkward silence though; that was the surprising part. It was somehow very comfortable, like there was no need to break the silence. It was only as Scott pulled up to Stiles' house that he spoke. "I'm really glad you came tonight," he said.

"Me, too," Stiles said honestly. "I'd kind of forgotten what it was like to be part of a family. Mom and I...we don't really do gatherings anymore."

Scott put his hand on Stiles' forearm, squeezing it gently. "Hey, if you ever need someone to talk to, or somewhere to stay, our door is open."

Stiles smiled in spite of himself. "Thanks, Scott. I'll keep that in mind. I...thanks."

* * *

Lydia found Stiles first thing Monday morning. Literally, first thing. As soon as he stepped off of the bus, she had her arm in his and was guiding him toward the school. "What happened? How was it? I need details, Stiles, I'm dying."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Oh my god, you're acting like you were expecting us to get into a screaming match or make out or something. It was nice. We studied, we had dinner, we watched a movie, he drove me home. Why, what did you expect to happen?"

She sighed as she pushed opened the doors to the school. "It's not what I expected to happen, it's what happened afterwards. Have you not heard yet?"

Stiles was about to retort that he couldn't have possibly heard unless she told him when he stopped in his tracks. Suddenly, what Lydia was talking about all made sense. He knew what Scott had been grappling with on Thanksgiving, and he knew what conclusion he had come to as well. Scott was pressed up against his locker with some blond boy in his arms, engrossed in a deep kiss.


	9. Note From The Author

Don't hate me, but I decided to start rewriting the story. Certain elements just weren't working for me anymore, and a couple of things just needed a complete overhaul, so I went about redeveloping it. The new first chapter should be up pretty soon, there are just a couple of kinks I need to work out still. So please read the new story and realize that I'm expecting it to be infinitely better and slightly less like a soap opera.

Also, since I'm planning on using the same name, this work will be orphaned. Sorry.


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